Winter Mornings
by Fireflights
Summary: Winter days on New Berk are short. Hiccup should leave the warmth of his bed to start his day, but Astrid has other plans for him. [Tumblr prompt request asking for Winter Morning sex]


Dawn spills through the snow-covered windows, casting the Chief of Berk and his wife in a hazy purple light that pulls them from the land of dreams.

Stretching her arms above her head, Astrid's fingers search the empty air until they find the warmth of her husband. Rebelling against the morning sun, she tucks her head beneath his chin.

Pulling her into his arms, Hiccup holds her tight, eyes shut against the day. In the darkness, he can't see her, but he feels the warmth of her body beneath the furs and tastes the remnants of her on his tongue.

The air in their bedroom is cold; the fire dying in the hearth.

Pulling him closer, Astrid throws the furs around them before settling, her arms snaking around his neck. She pulls him down, bringing him to her until his neck presses against her lips. Tender kisses press to the chief's neck, lips over the steadily-growing pulse of his heart.

He leans his head back, reclining into their pillows. Opening his eyes, he looks down at her. Through heavy-lids, he watches as golden strands spill across his shoulders and chest, obscuring the field of freckles that stand out against his skin. Languidly, his hand lifts to rest in her hair.

Her lips fall over his, sealing him against her. She intertwines her legs with his, fighting to pull him closer.

He traces his hand down the gentle curve of her cheek, resting just beneath her jaw. Cradling her head, he kisses her until his lungs burn. "Mmhm, Astrid," He calls, voice rough from disuse.

Begrudgingly, she pulls away from him, sitting on her elbows and peering through a messy length of tangled, blonde silk. Around her, the furs fall to her middle, exposing her bare chest to the morning air. The cold prickles her skin—a reminder to restore the dying fire and begin the day—but her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is parted in a mischevious grin as she looks down at him.

"We need to get up, the vill—"

"—The village can wait," She finishes.

Outside their hut, the snow continues to fall. This deep into winter, the days are short and the work is plentiful. The snow must be cleared from the village if his tribe is to step foot outside their homes before the spring. The animals must be tended to if they are to survive the cold. The ice must be cleared from the fishing boats and the docks and the steps that lead to the Great Hall. As chief, Hiccup is expected to oversee all of this, and to help where he is needed. It's expected that he check on the elders, check on the sick and the children. He should already be in the village center, working toward the survival and betterment of his people.

Before, on Berk, tasks like these were easily completed with the aid of dragons. But now, held up on the cliffs of New Berk, they are held back by their own humanity. The snow climbs higher by the day and the Hooligans are forced to deal with nature as the gods will.

Hiccup listens for a moment, knowing the sun is up and such, so should the chief. But the world outside his bedroom is silent, not a Viking to be heard.

The bed beneath them creaks and Hiccup finds Astrid has shifted to be on top of him, her hair spilling down her shoulders and hiding her breasts like those silly statues Johann used to bring from Rome.

Beneath her hair, her neck and breast are speckled with blue and purple love-bites. A spillover from youth, Hiccup enjoys the splashes of color against her pale skin. His hand reaches up, winding a strand of hair around his finger, lips parted in unspoken words.

Light spills into the room from their window, casting her body in radiant light. Peering up at her, he is certain that she is sunlight-made-flesh; a Valkyrie among mortals.

She leans down, lips pressing into the nape his neck as she crawls down his body, giving special attention to the freckles that constellate across his skin. By the time she reaches the waist of his sleep-pants, he has reclined into the comfort of his mattress, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"The village can wait," He agrees, voice dazed. Lifting his hips, he lets her pull the fabric from his thighs. The cold air sends shivers across his skin, but Astrid is on him before his erection can feel the biting cold. Her lips close around the head, sheltering it from the winter drafts.

She settles between his legs, one hand clutching at the jut of his hip, the other gripping the base of his cock.

"_Gods_," Hiccup swears, bucking up into her touch as she sucks and pulls at the sensitive skin.

Eyes as blue as a Nadder's scales roll beneath blonde lashes, the hand on his hip gently, but firmly, pushing him back into the mattress. Beneath her touch, he settles, holding still at her unspoken command.

Beneath the beggings-of-a-beard and the chiefly cloak and the responsibilities that come with establishing a new home, Hiccup is still the love-struck boy who watched Astrid from his forge. He's still the same pining fool that chased her from dragon back. Growing up together, his eyes had only ever been for her Risking life and limb and the safety of Vikings and dragons alike for her, his devotion and love have been constant, but they're never as noticeable as they are in these quiet moments together. Sprawled out in their bed,, his head is thrown back, but his eyes peer down, staying locked with hers.

His hand brushes against her hair mindlessly, thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. The hand tightens, though, as her tongue slides down his length. Hand tangled in the silken strands, his heart races, and his breath shortens with each slow movement. Every inch of him is on fire. A spring, slowly coils inside of him, tension building as he fights not to buck into her mouth as she takes him, her nose pressed into the auburn patch of hair above his groin.

Flushed and breathy, Astrid allows him his hold as she works.

_"Gods, Ast—"_ He gasps, words disappearing into the morning air as he bucks into her. Squirming on top of the blankets, his hand clenches and unclenches in her hair as she works her mouth around him. "_You're beautiful, you're so good, you're—"_

His words turn to incoherent praises, each one sending a new spark of fire to her belly. Eyes trained on his face, she watches as he mumbles her name and swears to his gods. She knows he's getting close now. He always talks when he's on the verge of coming.

The idea of him coming undone is almost enough to set her off; the Chief of Berk with the silver tongue reduced to a convulsing, lovestruck fool beneath her touch.

She turns her attention his head, lips wrapped him, her hand pumps the remaining length of his shaft in a steady rhythm.

The grip in her hair tightens until Hiccup shutters beneath her, coming with a gasp.

Satisfied, she pulls back, wiping the remains of his seed from her lips. Sitting on her heels, she towers over him, the chill of the morning forgotten.

His hands fall to his sides and he laughs softly, pushing himself up on the mattress to rest against the headboard.

Outside their window, the light has grown stronger, reflecting off the snow and blinding them when they try to peer into their village.

Astrid crawls her way back up his body, a trail of kisses left in her wake. Curling into his chest, she feels him drape an arm across her. She lifts her head to look at him, curls falling to frame her face.

"I love you," He says, hands sliding to rest on the sides of her head.

"I love you too," She responds simply.

Pulling her to him, he kisses her, long and hard and full. Each press of his lips is an expression of gratitude: for her love, for her beauty, for being the one to remind him of his worth and for being the one to set his heart aflame. Each kiss is a thank you, but each kiss is also a promise for the repayment of her love.

Even if that repayment means being the one to leave the warmth of their bed to rekindle the fire.


End file.
